Contemplations
by Quatre-sama
Summary: Song of the Lioness - This is a look into King Roald's mind, shortly after Lianne's death. Response to the Seanfhocal Challenge 14 - "jaded"


Contemplations  
  
Roald rode in silence, ignoring the hushed conversation of the soldiers accompanying him. He tried to fall behind, but each time the silver and blue of their tunics disappeared from his vision one guard would come back, making sure everything was all right. They were more attentive to their orders than they had ever been in the past; he suspected Jonathan had something to do with it.  
  
He wasn't lost in thought. Thought did no good. What was there to ponder? His nephew had been heretically brought back from the Black God's realm, his wife was dead--his world was falling apart. Thinking just led to more pain. And what was pain without Lianne's cool hand on his cheek, reminding him that things would get better?  
  
"But they won't," he murmured. Never again would he see his lovely wife, once a vibrant woman, but forever altered through Roger's deeds. She was the one who has encouraged his sorcery, no less. And what did that give him? No queen, and an untrustworthy duke who skulked around a potentially evil sorceror.  
  
Roald looked at the palace: the Conte colors flew proudly, even at half-mast. And for how long would they be at half-mast? Mourning for the duke was quickly followed with mourning for the queen. Who next? Would Jonathan be taken? Would Roger plan something new, or was he right in that Sir Alan--Alanna--was the evil in Tortall?  
  
Trial by combat deemed that the girl was right. But would the gods allow a murderer to rise from the dead? Were both equally wrong in the balance of good and evil, and the gods favored neither? Or had the gods simply forsaken them all together?   
  
No, he knew the Gods still cared. He had seen Mithros's stern, yet loving face on Midwinter. He had heard his wife's peaceful whispers right before her death, and knew the Black God was standing with them. The Gods would never abandon Tortall, so long as there was faith in the hearts of the king and his subjects.  
  
He looked up into the sky, where a falcon swept gracefully above. To be free of life--what a relief it would be. Soaring in the skies as a spirit, in that brief time before the Black God's judgement… wasn't that supposed to be the sweetest moment of a soul's existence, according to the priests of the Black God's Temple? His obligations as king would be over. He would no longer have to listen to the nobles who were angry about Sir Alanna. He wouldn't have to look at his son's silent accusations every time Roger swept through the corridors. He could be with Lianne.  
  
There were many ways to die. An accident would be best--something that would prevent Jonathan from ever learning the truth. Losing both parents would hurt the boy, but suicide would tear his heart apart.   
  
He shook his head forcefully. Suicide was not an option. No Tortallan king could ever take his own life, no matter what. And how would the Black God judge him, knowing he had been a coward who couldn't face life? No--his duty was with his people, and to face the problems of the realm without complaint or any display of suffering. It was his penance for letting so many horrible things happen. A better king would come along in his time--Jonathan was clearly beginning to prove himself capable.  
  
Roald turned to his men. "Let's ride as we used to," he said firmly. He liked the grins on their faces--as if their old king had returned to his senses.   
  
One of the soldiers gave an excited battle-cry and galloped deeper into the woods. Roald smiled at the men and followed. The pounding of hoofs against the forest floor in their familiar rhythm seemed to mirror Roald's heartbeat. His spirits rose as they rode on an old, but familiar path. He would face his countrymen with pride. He would do all he could to ensure that Jon was a better ruler: make sure that he married a stronger woman. He would teach him to be aware of his enemies at all time, to show him that peace is not the goal of a king--but the result of a good king.  
  
He had seen the lowest point of his despair, now he could only recover and get back to work. He would always miss Lianne, there was no question. But he would live for her; he would do all he could to protect and nurture their son.  
  
He rode faster, preparing for the gorge ahead. Once he crossed the large gap, he would ride back to the palace and take Jonathan in his arms. He would be a king again, not a pale shadow of a man.


End file.
